


Not the One You Want (But the One That’s There)

by vampgirl999



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Gay Feels, Lena is a hurt gay, Pining, Sex, Strap-Ons, but still very human
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-29 18:55:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21415030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampgirl999/pseuds/vampgirl999
Summary: Lena doesn’t trust people anymore - can’t trust people, she tells herself. Or aliens, for that matter. Unfortunately, being a human herself meant that she herself had very human needs that required fulfilling, even if she tried to convince herself that she doesn’t, or that she can avoid it. So she turns to the one substitution she can trust - she turns to Hope
Relationships: Hope & Lena Luthor, Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor
Kudos: 65





	Not the One You Want (But the One That’s There)

It was a late night in National City. Deep within L-Corp’s interior, the lights of a single lab room remained on - a fairly common occurrence these days. The company’s CEO practically lived in her office, dismissing any concerns with a placating smile and an easy explanation of private projects that needed her undivided attention. Not even her supposed ‘best friend’ could convince her otherwise.

But, regardless of what Lena Luthor may declare, or how often she’ll convince others that she is entirely capable of getting by on less than what most humans need - less food, less sleep, less time spent with others - that does not change the end fact: she is human, and has human necessities and desires like any other. And if she can’t get them from another human, she’s going to have to find a proper substitute.

Which is how she ended up in her current position: Skirt hiked up about her waist, and legs wrapped around her former assistant’s hips as she balances on the edge of a desk.

_ Trying not to think about someone who wouldn’t need the support, whose strength was more than enough... _

Rhythmic gasps and cries of pleasure and exertion echo about the lab, scattered with the wet, slick pumps of the strap-on between them, driving into her over and over. 

_ It looks wrong, placed over plain white clothes rather than hugging exposed, tanned skin... _

“More.” Lena begs, but even when Hope goes at it harder, enough for her to really  feel it, it’s still not enough, and she digs into the thick fabric of the other’s shirt with her nails, clawing at the sparks that leave her body too quickly, whining and biting into her bottom lip. She knows she’ll have a bruise later, but it has proven easier to hide than the dark marks she’s left on Hope’s shoulders or neck. It’ll also heal far faster, serve as less of a reminder. 

_ Not that she’s ever had the chance to do so, or ever will... _

At a particularly loud cry, Hope knows she has found the correct spot (could have found it a while ago, really, but Miss Luthor had insisted on drawing things out tonight, rather than just being fucked into a quick orgasm between assignments) and focuses on aiming her thrusts there, listening to her creator gasp and shake in her arms. She doesn’t get tired like humans do, so she just keeps going, until a rough, desperate order is all but begged into her ear - 

“Make me come.” 

And Hope shoves a hand between the pair, rubbing against Lena’s clit with practiced precision. The genius cries out, stiffening and locking her hold on the other as she is all but shoved over the edge, left spiraling and gasping. 

A familiar name whispers out on her lips, but Hope wisely doesn’t mention it. She learned after last time, when Miss Luthor locked herself away for three days, speaking to no one the entire time. Not even her. 

_ She had looked so drained when she finally came out - too pale and haggard, more ghost than person... _

Once she’s caught her breath, Lena lightly pushes against the other’s shoulders, and Hope obligingly steps back, carefully extracting herself and watching the CEO fix her clothes and hair with a focused gaze. The toy still hangs from its straps, glistening wetly. 

“Thank you, Hope.” Her voice, if a touch breathless, has returned to its detached professionalism, no longer looking at Hope with desire, but rather in the same fashion she would a business partner: Superior...and intensely guarded. 

“Of course, Miss Luthor.” The response is reflexive, the same one she gives every other time they do this. Privately, Hope wonders about the subtle twinge in her chest each time they finish as such. 

Perhaps she requires more stamina. 


End file.
